


Bat John

by AtlinMerrick



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bat!John, Batjohn - Freeform, M/M, it was all a dream of course it was, these two have the best dreams EVER
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-15 05:09:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3434753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtlinMerrick/pseuds/AtlinMerrick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I was a bat, Sherlock, and not one of those big flying fox-type ones, no. I was maybe a few ounces and change, with a high squeaky voice and a passion for your penis."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fort John

"I am not going to talk about it."

"You made me talk about that dream I had."

"What dr—oh. Yeah, well your dream was normal."

"My dream was about a horned man."

"He was a Norse god. It was a helmet. That's different."

"Tell me John."

"I'm not telling you Sherlock."

"Fine."

"Good."

The detective sat down on the edge of their bed and looked _detectivey._

John slid down, pulled the duvet up to his nipples. "Don't."

"What?"

"Don't do it."

"Do what?"

"Stop trying to deduce my dream."

"Make me."

"I will make you many, many things if you don't get off this bed and go somewhere that is not here."

Sherlock stood up. His new sky blue dressing gown settled around his nakedness like the mantle of a prince. Imperious, he said, "I can deduce you from the other room."

John scowled. Because god damn it, Sherlock could totally do that. Deduce him from the other room. He could probably deduce him from space.

God _damn_ it.

Everyone thinks Sherlock can deduce anything. John knows he can't. And John also knows that plenty of the things Sherlock deduces are just plain wrong. The problem is that Sherlock's right so often John's given up trying to figure out where he'll go astray.

This is by way of explaining why John confessed. The likelihood that Sherlock would deduce all the particulars of his dream was small, but John had no way of knowing which particulars he'd get and which he wouldn't and frankly deducing _half_ his dream was going to be more embarrassing than if he just—

"I was a humanoid bat and I was in love with your penis."

Sherlock knows everyone thinks he can deduce anything. He also knows that John knows that he can't but has no clue where Sherlock's deducing edges lie. Sherlock's not going to help him out with that at any time much less this time.

However, if he _was_ inclined to help, Sherlock would be pointing out that here, right here in front of them both, is an edge. Two really. Three, depending. Because frankly all Sherlock had been pretty sure of was that John's dream involved sex. If pressed he might have suggest a penis was in the vicinity. If pressured further he'd never in a hundred years have come up with an anthropomorphic bat romancing his cock.

Sherlock sat back down on the edge of the bed. He may or may not have laid a hand over his relevant area without realizing he was doing so.

"Explain."

John tugged the duvet just past the edge of his chin and said, "Wasn't that enough? How much more madness do you need exactly?"

Sherlock actually thought about this, as John knew he would. "A lot more than this, apparently. Continue?"

John's sigh precisely conformed to the criterion for long-suffering. "I was a bat, Sherlock, and not one of those big flying fox-type ones, no. I was maybe a few ounces and change, with a high squeaky voice and a passion for your penis. I may or may not have worn your foreskin as a beanie at one point." John pulled the duvet over his head and muttered, "I don't even know any more."

All of this had gone so far past Sherlock's purview he was mute for an entire ten seconds. Then the good doctor began mumbling from beneath Fort John.

"I liked to get you off."

Sherlock focused. "What now?"

"In the dream. I…liked…to… _do you."_

Sherlock tried, he honest-to-god made the brainiac attempt to visualise a hand-sized mammal bringing him off, but short of some extremely questionable—

"Not like that!"

Sherlock could only presume his breathing had been…expressive. "Well you paused dramatically, what did you hope to convey if not—"

"Your penis, not your—! With my mouth, not my—! I used my little tongue! Sometimes my ears! Oh god did you maybe poison me again? Tell me you poisoned my tea again, or tainted my toast."

Sherlock sat up tall on the bed's edge. "I promised to _tell_ you every time I bring a toxin within six inches of your body, John, I'm hurt that you think—"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I didn't—oh fuck."

He'd done it _again._ In classic Sherlock fashion John's pain had morphed into Sherlock's pain and how he managed to do that time and again John would never know but—

"—the point is I've got ejaculate going cold on my stomach and I'm under this blanket dying of humiliation okay?"

"You told me dreams are normal and nothing to be ashamed of."

"That was before I had a dream I was a bat who sucked on your precome and enjoyed getting myself off inside your pants."

For a man who insisted he was ashamed of his dream, John continued to select very evocative phrases to express his shame.

"John, you're choosing very evocative phrases here."

From beneath Fort John there was another…sound. This one was not a sigh, long-suffering or otherwise.

From his snug perch just outside the duveted doors of John's little fort, Sherlock's gaze flickered across the ceiling as he rummaged through his mind palace. He was looking for that list, that long list of sound names he'd made up the day after that weekend where they used only noises to convey their sexual desires _._ Lots and lots of…

"That's the noise you make when you finger yourself!"

In his dark little cave of shame and lust, John jumped guiltily. But didn't stop messing about with his arse.

"John?"

John thought about pretending he was deaf. He thought about pretending he was somewhere all by himself, maybe still drenched in post-dream awkwardness but also able to just take a minute and do something a little sexy without Mr. Deduction deducing where his fingers were or what—

"That's the groan you make when you want me to do the next thing so long as that thing is a sex thing."

John stilled and panted. To be honest he didn't know what he wanted right now. His choices seemed to be one of three:

* Clam up and go full steam ahead with the shame situation. This would involve never coming out from under the duvet and writing his blog entries in the dark but John was pretty sure he could manage.

* Go full steam ahead with the shame situation, never come out from under the duvet, blah blah blah, but also tell Sherlock about the dream of which he was so deeply ashamed.

* Use the dream as a sex aid.

Being as John's spit-wet fingers did, indeed, rest right against his anal passage, being as he could hear Sherlock humming in a somewhat aroused manner outside his fort, the good doctor cleared his throat and recognised that he was really quite well along with the third option.

So John made that groan again, the one that meant he wanted Sherlock to do the next thing so long as that thing was a sex thing.

Sherlock Holmes did not disappoint.

_There was a bat!John meme awhile back. Oh I did love this meme. There was art and stories and my favourite artist was[Docspocklock](http://docspocklock.tumblr.com/post/46731392575/this-is-silly-anonymous-asked-you-so-i-have). She drew things. Filthy, wonderful things [that I reblogged often](http://atlinmerrick.tumblr.com/search/docspocklock). I started this story back in those heady days and never finished it. Then, suddenly, this wee bit of madness. That was then podficced by the glorious [Aranel Parmadil! "Bat John" podfic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3681090), pleeease listen!. _


	2. Your...You and My...Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You would be at a crime scene. Or Scotland Yard. And you'd take me along with you. In your pants. Because we were, you know, f-friends."

In his princely mantle of silky blue, Sherlock sat outside the gates of John's cotton fort. Sherlock decided he had three options:

* Do as John requested and leave him alone under the duvet, there to eventually perish of mortification and lack of internet.

* Beg John to keep telling him about the dream.

* Reach under the duvet and finger John's arse.

Sherlock is a genius. As such he quickly went through the three options and arrived at the one most suitable.

He would combine choices two and three.

Decision made, Sherlock stopped humming, lubed his finger with the minty-burny lube they both like, wriggled his arm under the duvet, found John's arse by a brisk grope, and sunk his index in up to the last knuckle.

John may be ashamed of dreaming he is an anthropomorphic bat in love with Sherlock's penis, but he is not ashamed of squealing.

Outside John's fort Sherlock started humming again. The sound was breathy, low, and the exact sound Sherlock makes when—

"You're— _oh!—_ squeezing your— _oh!—"_ The rest was lost in a strangled moan.

Instead of replying (because yes, Sherlock was squeezing his balls) the good detective tipped over on the bed and whispered hoarsely, "What else?"

In duvet dark John bore down on the long finger squirming up. He squealed some more. Sherlock squeezed his balls tighter and broke into a sweat.

"I w-would, uh, I'd crawl inside your trousers and your pants. Because I was small. Really small. Like your penis."

John paused. He hadn't meant it to sound like that.

"I didn't mean it to—"

Sherlock made louder humming sounds. He didn't care if John thought his penis was small, striped, or named Benedict, he cared only that John liked his penis very much.

"I love your penis. Very much." John clenched harder, by way of reassurance. Sherlock was reassured.

The good doctor briefly hummed instead of squealing, then continued. "You would be at a crime scene. Or Scotland Yard. And you'd take me along with you. In your pants. Because we were, you know, f-friends."

Sherlock nodded. Of course they were. Even if John was a small furry mammal and Sherlock still Sherlock they would always be friends.

"And also because I was so small, like I said, and your pants were warm."

Sherlock cleared his throat. He reflected that his pants area was currently _very_ warm.

"And then—" Inside his humid cave John deduced stealthy movement of the wanking variety outside his cave. "—uh, then sometimes, when I was bored, I would…I'd…" As much as he wanted to join, he couldn't really tell a story and jerk off at the same time. He's often tried. "…I would play with your penis."

The stealthy movement paused briefly. John knew Sherlock was visualising the foreskin beanie.

"If the crime scene was a two and you were also bored you'd…encourage me."

At this point John was pretty sure Sherlock was holding his breath.

"You'd do that by buttoning up your Belstaff. I could tell because it would get _so so_ warm inside."

Judging from the temperature of John's anal passage, Sherlock surmised that John was so so warm right _now._ After an extended silence, Sherlock wiggled his finger encouragingly. John was encouraged.

"And! After that! You'd wiggle your hips a little. T-to let me know you were ready."

_Ready. Ready. Sherlock was so, so ready._

"So I'd cuddle your…you. With my little arms."

Fort John became an entire degree warmer courtesy of another doctorly blush. Outside the stealthy movement started again.

John continued.

"Then I'd uh, hump your cock with my little…me."

More movement. Less stealthy.

"You'd get hard. In your pants. And I'd, I'd—god Sherlock, this should be embarrassing why isn't this embarrassing any more?"

In reply the bed started rocking with the force of no stealth whatsoever.

"Well, I'd wiggle about until I could get to your, to the…I'd lick your slit."

Sherlock made a delicious baby-bat sort of sound.

John talked faster.

"And that was what we'd do while you walked around the crime scene or Scotland Yard. I'd lick and you wouldn't be bored and, and, and, uh, eventually I'd, you know."

The bed stopped rocking. John blushed some more. He knew, absolutely knew that Sherlock was going to wait until 'you know' was explained.

John squared his shoulders. He's sensibly afraid of bombs, angry toddlers, and Mrs. Hudson when she's on a tear, but he's braved all of these. He was _not_ going to shy from the details of a freaky little sex dream.

As if deducing these thoughts, Sherlock finger-fucked John in a more encouraging sort of way.

"The-the thing is, Sherlock, the thing is, I'd get off on your precome. The more you made the more wriggly I got. The more wriggly I got the harder _you_ got and the more precome you made. It was a—" Sherlock slid that finger in as deep as it could go. "—unf, a human-bat giving circle. In your pants. Even—"

Outside Fort John, the rocking started up again.

"—tually I'd come. All clutched around your erection with my little arms and legs and squeaking like a mad thing. Then you'd come too. In your pants. All over me. And…"

_"Ooooh."_

Sherlock's high, relieved moan hushed John for the entire time his spouse took to come, then for another little bit as he enjoyed afterglow. Soon after Fort John briefly blazed with morning light as Sherlock wriggled underneath the duvet, headbutting John's thigh until the good doctor turned onto his side. Now in a perfect sixty-nine position, Sherlock took gentle hold of John's cock and started a tiny, squirmy licking at his slit.

"I…I…I liked it when you…when you c-came on my little body. It was warm, very warm. Apparently I really, really liked being warm, that seemed…that seeemed very important to me. And that's pretty much, thaaaa— _ooooh."_

Warm, warm come pulsed against the back of Sherlock's throat. John made some entirely new sounds for Sherlock to catalogue. They were not bat-like exactly, but that is what they would be labeled in Sherlock's mind palace.

After John settled down, Sherlock shifted until he was right way round under the duvet, a fetal ball of pleasure curled peacefully against his husband in the humid dark of Fort John. He draped a long arm over his little bat, kissed a slightly-bristly chin, and hummed them both to sleep.

_Thank you so much for loving on BatJohn as much as I do! Don't forget to look at[Docspocklock's Sherlock artwork](http://docspocklock.tumblr.com/tagged/sherlock) if you haven't already. And here's this darling wee [bat!John animated gif](http://gingercatsneeze.tumblr.com/post/58701957676/wake-up-john-a-new-case) from Gingercatsneeze._

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Nectar](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3495863) by [TheMadKatter13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMadKatter13/pseuds/TheMadKatter13)
  * [[Podfic] Bat John](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3681090) by [aranel_parmadil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aranel_parmadil/pseuds/aranel_parmadil)




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